


Leaving the Garden

by Entropy House (AnonEhouse)



Category: Drake's Venture
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, No Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Entropy%20House
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drake doesn't execute Doughty, instead he sends him back to England in a rotten ship, with a sick crew, expecting them all to die. Doughty survives, but it's taken a toll on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaving the Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a DV ficathon in 2008 to this  
>  **Prompt:** Thomas has been back for some time already with Winter. He fell out of favour and settled in the country with his brother. I'd like someone to write Thomas' first meeting with the newly knighted Francis Drake.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

The court is as I remembered it, full of haughty manners and sly looks. Now that the Queen has accorded me the ultimate accolade they attempt to hide their disdain. And well they should! Useless scheming popinjays, the lot of them. Aye, cage-birds they are, fit only to bedeck a lady's bower and chatter brightly. I am the Queen's own dragon and need not flock with them.

I have wealth and power, and even the arms I myself designed. I was denied the old Drake arms, but then mayhap it is fit and proper that a self-made man should have arms to match. Arms that may indeed remain uniquely mine. No woman I have lain with has showed me a brat with my features, one I might claim whether or no I doubted myself the sire. Neither of my lawful lady wives e'er showed any inclination to bear. 

Well, then, let it be as God has proclaimed. My immortality will be writ on England's maps and history books, rather than in the lineaments of my descendants. God wot, my nephew is puff'd with unearned pride in my accomplishments, and swears he shall write-or more like, have writ, a book full of my exploits. Belike he will- and if it be liberally seasoned with landsman fancies, what care I? 

But all that shall be upon my passing. I yet walk the earth, and I am full restless with the strictures of nobility. And confess it so, I am wishful to have one with whom I might speak plainly and without misapprehension. Aye, I could go to the docks and have my fill of plain speak with men who know the sea, but they know not the court, wherein I must also dwell. So it is that when a note comes to my hand requesting an audience for Thomas Doughtie, that I do not hesitate to agree.

@

I stroll amongst the cosseted flowers of the Queen's garden. Doughtie approaches me, still holding the parchment I had sent back to him with my seal embossed upon it, as official and courtly as any document.

To another's eye, Doughtie would be as haughty and proud as the peacock that also strides these gardens. I look closer and see that his finery is worn thin and the shine in his dark eyes is like unto a nervous horse expecting the whip, yet knowing it cannot evade the master. "Thomas, I see thee." He flushes at the intimacy of my address. I can see he is unsure whether I embrace him as a friend or disdain him. I have learned some subtleties at court.

"Sir Drake," he replies as is correct. Always correct, my Thomas. Odd, I surprise myself with the pleasure I feel at the sight of him. Having no response, he flushes and continues, as persistent as of old. "I have made enquiries and found that you do not have a personal secretary."

I laugh. "Have thee come seeking a position under me?" The colour rises even higher in Thomas's cheeks. His discomfit warms my belly. When Winter begged to be allowed to preserve Thomas's life, I had been moved to deny it. But it had occurred to me that I might send back the infirm and unfit upon the least sea-worthy of the vessels along with him, thus proving my mastery and also discouraging sloth among the remaining men. The proposal pleased the men being sent back penniless not, yet as I shrewdly calculated, they were shouted down by the others, seeking to profit by their loss. I had laughed as the lame ship limped back towards England, never expecting that they might actually succeed. 

Somehow they managed it in their worm-ridden carcase of a ship, holds full of nothing but bilge water. I suspect Thomas had far more to do with their survival than Winter, but it had taken its toll on him. He is thinner e'en than after Saracold did short his rations for months, and his hands tremble.

He is also more beautiful than e'er, his beard brown silk, his skin skimmed cream and his eyes the eyes of the hart at bay. And his voice is still as soft and warm as velvet. "I have come seeking whate'er charity you might presume to grant. My brother is ill, my properties seized by the crown, and e'en the Inner Temple is closed to me."

"Aye." I scratch at my beard. "The Queen lookest not with favour upon sorcerers and no one favours those she disdains."

Thomas's face pales. I wonder if indignation will be enough to send him away.

"Those charges were false, as well you know, Sir Francis."

"I know only that thee art a poor sorcerer, as poor as thou wert a seafarer." The light goes out in his eyes and he turns. Suddenly I realize I do not want him to leave. "Stay. I shall consider thee on thy merits. Thou hath always a quick wit and a pretty hand. Aye, and a good mind for sums."

He turns back to me, eyes wide with something ... I do not recognize it. It is not hope, or anger at our reversed roles in society. "I wouldst handle your affairs with utmost discretion, and serve you well. I couldst not obtain letters of recommendation, yet I had hope you knew full well my masters of old had no complaint of my probity or ability."

I nod and casually lay my hand upon his shoulder. "We shall discuss this in further detail, in private." I rub my thumb along his collarbone, feeling it sharp and graceful as a new-laid hull. "An thou meetest my needs, I shall take thee on."

He swallows. I see he remembers the night I offered him seaman's consolation, and he did not satisfy himself with demurral, but returned my courtesy with sermons and threats of hell-fire. 

"Thou meetest all my needs, and I shall surely see to thine."

He bows his stubborn neck and I see the lace of his ruff is torn and stained. Ah, let the swan bow his neck for the axe. The feast has been too long delayed. I soften my voice. "Truly, Thomas, I wouldst be reconciled with thee and lift thee from thy shame. Wert thou mine, no one shouldst throw muck upon thee."

"Not even you, Sir Francis? When you have what you wish of me?" His voice is still soft, still brave and gallant and sweetly toned. I give him the kiss of friendship as we leave the garden in full view of courtiers and servants.

"I will never have my fill of thee," I tell him plainly. "Thee shall sit at my right hand and sup at my table, and have nothing but honour in my house." I pause. "My wife will be right glad to retire to her garden and embroid'ry frame," I tell him as plainly as can be said under the sun of England. 

He still hesitates.

"Do you fear me, Thomas?"

His head lifts, and the old arrogance flickers behind his eyes. "Nay, Sir Francis. I will do all you bid, but I would have you know I do it only because my brother requires medicines and doctors."

"Brotherly love is a fine thing, Thomas. A fine thing." I put my hand on his shoulder again, and this time I do not feel him flinch away from me.


End file.
